The Tribe and the Cub
by ThatScreamingBread
Summary: Meet Omir, a Khajiit cub left for dead by his caravan in Skyrim. When caught by Orc hunters, he finds himself on the menu until the kindness of their leader, Maglarr, gets him out of the kitchen and into the Chief's home as a pet. As the Orcs discover his capabilities, Omir is taught the tribe's customs. Will racial differences set him apart, and will he be cast out yet again?


_**4E 183**_

 _ **6th of Morning Star.**_

The Khajiit caravans all across Skyrim were packing up their wares. Many planned to return to Elsweyr, for a deathly winter storm was on the rise.

The shifty Khajiit merchants gathered their belongings, their wealth, and the mothers in the caravans pulled their young close to them. Now was the time to leave, while the ground was not covered in snow and ice.

One particular Khajiit caravan was at the border of Cyrodiil. Their fur was matted with tiny snow crystals and their breaths lingered in the frosty air before disappearing. They had lost many friends on the journey to the border, and the fresh memories of their deaths loomed over the caravan like a thick, nightmarish fog.

A quiet sneeze stopped the caravan in their tracks. One by one, each member turned around to see their youngest cub falling behind. His yellow eyes were glassy and he moaned and groaned painfully as he weakly crawled towards his group, giving several quiet yowls of pain. The mother of the cub started forward to retrieve her nine-month old son before the elder of the caravan put a hand on her shoulder.

"Leave the boy," the elder gently ordered, giving the mother's shoulder a gentle squeeze as his whiskers twitched in reassurance. "He will not survive in his condition. We must go."

The caravan marched forth to Cyrodiil, leaving their youngest member behind on the bone-chilling ground of the unforgiving Skyrim. The snow fell gently, and after the caravan disappeared from the cub's sight, he was left dazed and confused as to what to do with his newfound freedom. He shivered and sniffled and sneezed some more before making a feeble effort to crawl forward.

Slowly, he slipped across the ground like a snake in the grass, and the young cub made his way towards a small bush that had caught his attention. He remembered that his mother would sometimes bring berries from the bushes for him to eat.

As his delicate paw reached out and gently swatted at the bush, he grew despondent when no berries were discovered. The cub climbed into the bushes in a desperate attempt to search for food, but all he could feast upon was his stinging disappointment as he slowly drifted out of consciousness.

Two days later, the storm drew closer still. A pack of Orcs from a secluded stronghold had just concluded a successful hunt, hauling an enormous deer carcass on the path back to their home. The Orc hunters bellowed and chortled, stomping noisily about as they carried their prize, plump and precious for a good few meals the next week.

The tallest Orc, Maglarr, seemed the proudest of all. Between hearty guffaws and excessive boasting, Maglarr would occasionally stop to examine his surroundings. Though he was the tallest and most physically intimidating, he was also the wisest and most aware of the hunting group.

As the Orc hunters chattered away about their prize beast, Maglarr stopped to listen to a tiny, almost inaudible sound. He ventured away from the rest of his group, prompting the trio to stop and shout at him to return to them.

Maglarr knelt down and examined the small sprig of underbrush at his feet. He cautiously reached in and rustled through it before feeling something tiny and soft. He carefully picked up his newfound object and hoisted it out of the brush.

Before his eyes was a tiny, fluffy Khajiit cub.

To anyone else in Skyrim, a Khajiit would have been nothing to gawk at, but Orc strongholds were fairly uncommon in Skyrim, and Khajiit caravans were even rarer. Maglarr held the cub out in front of him, looking into the mewling kitten's big, glassy yellow eyes. Maglarr found himself entranced by the tiny animal he held. _What was this creature?_

"Excellent work, Maglarr! Two noteworthy prizes in one day!" Gromorsh, the most boisterous and bossy Orc in the hunting pack exclaimed, snatching the cub away from Maglarr. "I wonder what this little thing will taste like once it's roasted and buttered over the spit," Gromorsh chuckled, holding the kitten out for the other two Orcs to behold.

"What is that thing?" Lorbell, the youngest and most soft-spoken Orc asked, cautiously approaching the cub.

"It looks like a tiny sabre cat," Zorzob, the Orc who shouldered most of the massive deer, declared.

"Whatever it is, I'm sure it's delicious!" Gromorsh bellowed gleefully, roughly shaking the cub around.

The cub was less than happy. He yowled in terror and feebly batted at the brute's crushing hands, trembling profusely. The kitten looked around desperately before his eyes met those of Maglarr, who found himself shocked by the cub's reaction. Instead of letting Gromorsh terrify the kitten anymore, he stepped in.

"Hold on a moment, Gromorsh. This little animal might be of use to us yet," He started.

"The only use we'll get out of this thing is a good meal," Gromorsh sneered.

"No, Chief Nayglob's been looking for a pet to keep around ever since that old goat kicked off. Maybe this fluffy animal could take its place."

"Maglarr is right. We shouldn't eat this fur-bearer. It's not got enough meat, and also-"

"And also _what,_ Lorbell?" Gromorsh turned on Lorbell next, causing the shy Orc to back away a bit.

"I mean, it...it's also sort of...cute."

"CUTE?" Lorbell collapsed, instinctively putting a hand to his head after recovering from the blow Gromorsh had dealt him.

"That's enough, Gromorsh. We're late enough as it is. Why don't we take it back to the tribe and see what Chief Nayglob thinks of it?" Zorzob suggested.

With those simple words, the raging fire in Gromorsh dimmed, and he gave in. Lorbell, Gromorsh, and Zorzob all resumed carrying the enormous deer while Maglarr clutched the kitten close to him. He looked down at the trembling cub when he heard a soft sneeze. _Heh. Poor little bastard must be sick. I'll have to remember to get Atashek to take a look at it._

The kitten relaxed, once again feeling arms around his tiny body. He sniffled and trembled in the cold before he slowly drifted off to sleep.


End file.
